“A widdy—me a widdy, whist now, Jared, it’s jokin’ ye are.”
“Joking,” repeated the clerk, bitterly, “It seems like a joke, don’t it? They are making out the warrants now, but I can tell you this, for your comfort. Robert will be married before they can reach him.”
“Married! To that woman?”
“To that woman.”
Once more Mrs. Boyce rushed before the judge.
“Oh, yer honor—”
The judge waved her back, he was giving orders about some papers that a clerk was writing out.
“But, yer honor,” persisted the distracted creature.
“You can go home now, my good woman. The officer will let you know when you are wanted again,” said the judge, without lifting his eyes.
The poor woman looked wildly around the court-room, but there was no one to whom she could appeal. Then struck with the thought that her husband was perhaps being married, she rushed from the room.